


Smoke Signals

by iridiumring92



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, injuries, noct just wants ignis to feel better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-15 23:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13623627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridiumring92/pseuds/iridiumring92
Summary: Noct realizes that Ignis is hiding something.





	Smoke Signals

**Author's Note:**

> For Ignoct Week 2018 Day 4: Injury.

Something was up, and Ignis was hiding it.

Or trying to, anyway. He was giving it his best effort, but Noctis had known him long enough to tell when his movements were genuine and when they served to mask something. And right now, watching him from halfway across the haven they’d chosen to stop at for the night, Noctis could see that he was trying desperately not to give something away.

Ignis had tasked himself with cooking the four of them a meal earlier that evening, and though Prompto had even offered to help, Ignis had declined. Noctis, Gladio, and Prompto had spent the last half hour sparring, in the grass, while the sun set, with what little energy they had left from the day’s trek and various battles. Finally Noctis had claimed exhaustion and returned to the place where they’d set up the tent and the chairs, where the runes encircled a flat spot. Prompto and Gladio had given him hell for it, of course, but ultimately they’d let him go and continued sparring.

Now, Noctis sat debating how to approach Ignis.

If he said anything too blatantly, Ignis would just deny it and push him away. He knew that. But how else was he going to get Ignis to admit to it? He wasn’t good with words, not the way Ignis was.

Still, he couldn’t just avoid this conversation. Couldn’t let Ignis avoid this conversation. He watched Ignis’s gloved hands flutter across a line of tools, select a knife, and then hesitate just as he began to press it down over one of the ingredients. A wince. Probably of pain. Maybe something had happened during one of their battles earlier today, or maybe even yesterday. Noctis’s throat tightened at the thought. He would never be able to guess, because Ignis would keep it from them at all costs. And because Noctis was shit at paying attention, probably.

He swallowed hard and rose from his chair, crossing to where Ignis stood.

“Noct,” Ignis said, pausing to look over at him. Noctis didn’t miss the way his hands absolutely froze. “I told you I’m fine. I don’t need any help.” His tone was meant to be gentle, but Noctis detected an undercurrent of tension.

“I know you said that.” Noctis reached for his hand, slowly, simply resting his bare hand on Ignis’s gloved one when they touched. Ignis didn’t pull away, so Noctis drew a breath to continue. “But you l—” No. He stopped. He couldn’t say Ignis looked like he needed help, because Ignis would take that as a criticism. “I want to help you,” he said finally.

Ignis set down the knife and the ingredient he was holding steady and turned to face Noctis. “Is there something you want to talk about, Noct?” he asked, looking just on the brink of annoyed. “Because if there is, you might as well just tell me, rather than willfully wasting my time.”

Noctis took a half step back, stung. He was wasting Ignis’s time? How long had Ignis felt that way? He searched for a way to retaliate, feeling frantic and terrified and hurt. “You’re injured,” he said, sucking in his lower lip, already regretting the words. “And I want you to feel better.”

Ignis stared back at him, his face blank.

“It’s your hands, isn’t it?” Noctis asked. “You hurt your hands.”

“No.”

“You’re always hiding them under your gloves anyway, a-and you were hoping we wouldn’t notice.” Noctis crossed his arms over his chest to conceal the shaking in his own hands. “Well, I noticed. You look—stiff. And you keep hesitating, like you’re in pain.”

Ignis glanced away, breaking eye contact. “It’s not pain.”

“Why is it so important to you that it’s not?” Noctis demanded. “I just want you to—to be able to _feel_ when you’re with us, Ignis. Instead of hiding it. I just want to . . .”

He stretched out a hand, reaching for Ignis, letting their fingertips brush. Ignis, his breathing shallow, didn’t pull away. Noctis took his hand and carefully slipped the glove off it.

His hands were red and cracked. Had he taken a hit from a fire spell or burned himself while he was cooking? “Why didn’t you heal these?” Noctis asked, his voice low and shaking.

“I didn’t want to waste our supply of curatives.”

“No,” Noctis breathed. “No no no.” _That’s what curatives are for, they’re for injuries,_ he wanted to say, but for some reason he couldn’t seem to get the words out. He bent down to where they’d left a couple of their bags of supplies and pulled out a healing potion, which he then opened and spread over Ignis’s skin. When he had finished with one hand, Ignis wordlessly offered him the other, and he poured the remaining medicine over Ignis’s burned skin. The wounds began to heal and fade as they watched. If he’d waited too much longer, Noctis thought, they would’ve scarred.

Ignis’s hand lingered in his, and, almost without thinking, Noctis lifted it, pressing his lips to Ignis’s knuckles. Softly. Ignis didn’t move—he stood frozen across from Noctis, statuesque, as if he had stopped breathing. Noctis kissed the backs of his fingers, and then the tips, taking his time with each one. When he looked up again, he saw that Ignis’s eyes were dark. Who knew what he would’ve done if the two of them didn’t have an audience?

In silent agreement, Noctis withdrew his hand and Ignis slipped his hands back into his gloves. Noctis’s heart was racing in his chest, making him feel fearful and giddy all at once. “Better?” he asked, in the steadiest voice he could manage.

“Yes,” Ignis said, without argument. “Thank you, Noct.”

“No problem.” Noctis cleared his throat. “Maybe we could . . . continue this later?”

Ignis gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. He looked over Noctis’s shoulder at Prompto and Gladio, who were still sparring, by the sound of it. Ignis wove his fingers into the hair at the back of Noctis’s neck and leaned close, pressing his lips softly against Noctis’s.

The kiss lasted barely a second, and it left Noctis wanting another. When Ignis pulled away, Noctis ached to chase after him, to kiss him again and again, but he knew he couldn’t. Still, he’d never dreamed that Ignis would actually make a move. Noctis wanted to keep him close for as long as he could.

“I had to repay you somehow,” Ignis said with a small smile, seeing Noctis’s expression. He gestured to the table in front of him, at the meal he hadn’t yet finished preparing. “You did say you wanted to help?”

“Sure.” Ignis handed him a knife, and their fingers brushed again. His face felt warm, and he could still feel the phantom echo of Ignis’s lips against his. He wondered what Ignis would do with _later._ He couldn’t stop thinking about what those hands would feel like on his skin, or digging into his hair, or those lips, opening against his. A heartbeat later he realized he’d stopped paying attention.

Ignis leaned closer, so that their shoulders bumped. “Don’t lose your focus,” he said. “I promise I’ll distract you later.”

“You promise?” Noctis asked, smirking. When Ignis nodded again, he said, “Okay.”

Ignis couldn’t resist stealing another kiss from him before ducking back down to concentrate.


End file.
